Hawkeye: Rescue Mission::
by journey-scribe
Summary: S.H.I.E.L.D. must send in Agent Clint Barton to protect and escort Jessica Evans, a newly discovered eyewitness to a large crime boss's operations. She is the best piece of evidence they have against the long-investigated Alistair Falcone and must make it home to the U.S. from France alive and able to testify to bring him down once and for all.
1. Segment 1

**Rescue Mission**

_Segment 1_

Jessica's sweaty hands wrung together, reddened by her tight and anxious grasp. Wavy, blonde locks of her disheveled hair drifted into her face, a thin curtain over her eyes tickling her brow and cheeks, but she only paused her restlessness to shove them away with one quick sweep of her hand. Her hotel room would appear pleasant and serene to any passerby, but the silence and emptiness felt like the chilled touch of death itself to the runaway, enveloping her in dim evening light and deafening her with fears of what else would rise with the sun if she dared fall asleep. She wasn't here for vacation, to tour this city of Paris or any of France for that matter. No, it was a business trip gone wrong, as she might have jested if her heart could quit thumping in her chest like a bumblebee in a Styrofoam cup. How could she not have noticed those six Colombians at the back of the plane, their fearful gazes, their locked jaws and cautious glances toward the two thugs around them? After five months of employment, how could she have only now discovered the true purpose for all of these trips overseas? They were not business transactions for the sale of machinery, but for human labor. How blind could she be?

A rigid vibrate jerked her stiffened body to the reality around her; someone was calling her phone. She'd stifled the ringtone earlier then set it to rest on the bed. Hand shaking violently, she reached for the active device as one might for a snake that she isn't sure is dead. Was this it? Had her ex-boss found her? So soon? Another vibrate trickled down her limb as she brushed a finger across the touch screen. Both relief and apprehension raced to her widening, cerulean eyes when the caller ID was displayed: _Mom_.

"No!" she gasped breathlessly, immediately fearing the worst. Nothing could stop her in that moment from answering the call; if anything were to happen, it would be to her, not her mother. She would see to that! "He-hello?" she managed hoarsely from hours without a voice.

"Hello, Miss Jessica Evans," a deep, male voice answered, casually but matured by some hidden knowledge. Its lack of familiarity was neither soothing nor nerve-wracking yet. "As you can probably tell, this is not yo' momma," the mysterious man, allegedly black by his tone, continued. "This is Director Nick Fury of S.H.I.E.L.D., and I have an agent ready to assist you."

Jessica's eyes widened, her head shaking in disbelief. So many questions flowed to her mind in that instant. "S.h-S.H.I.E.L.D.; what is that? Wh-where is my mother?" She made every effort to keep her voice still and calm.

"Probably at home," Director Fury easily replied, "I just used her number so you'd pick up. The only thing you need to know about S.H.I.E.L.D. is that you can trust us. We have a source inside of Falcone's company that alerted us to your situation. We need you to cooperate so that we can get you back to the states and under the protection of the law. Do you understand?"

Jessica swallowed an iron lump in her throat. She understood. But could she cooperate with complete strangers? What other options did she have? Wait for Falcone to find her and _then_ die? "Y-Yes…" she blinked back the shallow tears blearing her eyes, "Thank you." Her voice softened, allowing herself to submit to further explanation.

Satisfied by her response, Fury continued. "Alright, first thing I want you to do is close the blinds on your windows." Jessica lifted her eyes to the blinds that she had already shoved closed – one of the first things she did upon entering the room. "Second thing I want you to do is take the SIM card out of this phone and slide it under the bed; this will deactivate your phone but also keep them from tracking you."

Jessica nodded intently even though he couldn't see it, biting down on her lower lip to concentrate on his every word.

"Thirdly, there will be a knock at your door, three short knocks; the man knocking is named Agent Clint Barton. He will assist you from here on out. Our plan is to have you home in less than two days. Good luck, and do exactly as he tells you. Goodbye, Miss Evans."

She had an opportunity to stop him from hanging up, should she have any questions, but only released a quick, "I-I will. Thank you," before the call had ended. With a few deep breaths, the air she inhaled felt hollow, much like the butterflies-in-the-stomach feeling, and her arms felt weary as they braced to push her from the plush mattress to her feet. Her unsteady fingers quickly clicked the back of the phone open, withdrawing the SIM card just as she had been instructed. Sliding it along the clean carpet into the shadows beneath the bedframe, she'd only just stood up, grabbing her brown, leather purse and beige jacket to be ready, when three short knocks reached her ears.

Jessica exhaled to ease some tension in her shoulders as she crept to the door to answer. Before her stood a man a few inches taller than her, intense by demeanor but handsome, looking away until she came into view. His hair was a dull, light brown shade and short, spiking up above his forehead and wide, ocean blue eyes. He wore a plain, gray shirt beneath a black leather jacket, his hands slipping out of his jean pockets upon greeting her. "Miss Evans, Clint Barton," his baritone voice spoke up as he lifted some badge before her; it bore an unfamiliar symbol but matched the acronym Director Fury had used. "May I come in?" he lowered the badge, expression impassive yet emanating some empowering aura of confidence.

"Yes, of course," she accommodated, slipping out of his way.

Clint spared no moment to follow and step past her further inside. As she carefully closed the door behind him, he scanned the room briefly with only his gaze before turning to face her and await her attention. "You removed your SIM card?" he asked calmly, hands resting on his hips.

"Yes, it's under the bed," she nodded, flustered but pressing back her inner panic for his sake.

Clint nodded, staying matter-of-fact. "Then it's time to pack up. You got luggage?"

Jessica opened her mouth to respond but found the answer difficult. Her luggage? When would she have had time, running for her life? "No, I-I didn't..." she winced. The story was way too long to explain. "No," she concluded, smiling a little uneasily at her clumsy answer.

"Good," he nodded, still nearly expressionless, as she might have expected from a secret agent. "You'd better get some sleep; we've got a flight in four hours." With that he moved past her to lock the hotel door and then silently approached the windows to investigate them also.

Jessica frowned in faint surprise, glancing down at the purse and jacket she'd been hugging at her side. "Uh—okay," she agreed quietly, setting her things down on the mattress and stealing another few glances toward the busied agent in the meantime.

Upon locking the windows, he peered meaningfully behind the edge of blinds, likely spying by streetlight for any undesired guests.

Jessica's eyes paced with thoughts of something else to say; somehow, she needed to be more of a hostess than this. It would do her escort no good for her to be a shy victim of circumstance. Clearing her throat, she spoke up before knowing what to say, "Um, Mr. Barton?" He turned his eyes to her curiously, and she soon felt half-ridiculous for the words to follow. "Can I…get you anything? A…" she winced, realizing she was hardly in a proper hostess position to offer, "Glass of water?" It really was the best she could do in an obscure hotel room.

While she regretted even bringing it up, Clint shook his head, unfazed by the abrupt proposal. "I'm fine," he replied, eyes crinkling as a subtle, amused smirk tugged at his mouth. "I'll keep watch. You just rest." The command was offered gently, and – even as she could hardly see herself sleeping – Jessica nodded in agreement and soon curled up on the mattress beside her possessions, atop the comforter with one arm wrapped beneath the pillow. She couldn't see taking off her shoes and snuggling into the fluffy embrace of the sheets and blankets, but she would try to at least rest her eyes…just for an hour or so…she'd probably need it.

Clint watched as the woman he was to protect lied rigidly on the hotel bed. Her gold hair fell clumsily into her face, and she brushed it back while shifting to a comfortable position. Despite her obvious anxiety, he was content to observe that his presence had at least helped her drift asleep within ten minutes. The agent mostly kept a watchful eye out the window for suspicious activity but hardly resisted a few glances, now and then, toward the sleeping Miss Evans.


	2. Segment 2

**Rescue Mission**

Segment 2

It hardly felt that she'd drifted off for a few minutes when an abrupt touch pressed on her shoulder, at first in the dream, then in reality. Jessica jerked a little, tension of recalling her situation arising until Agent Barton came into view once again, gently nudging her awake. "Time to head out, Miss Evans," he mumbled, his warm hand settling against her arm for a moment before withdrawing again.

Blinking back bonds of drowsiness tying her to the soft mattress, Jessica willed herself to sit up and reach for her purse and jacket. In fact, she was about ready to slip the jacket on, as the chill of the night had finally caught up to her, when Clint stepped up slipping something out of a bag slung about his shoulder.

"Here," he offered a black hoodie rolled up in his hand, "wear the hood up until I tell you you're good to put it down, okay?" With that, she set her own possessions down and hurriedly slipped the hoodie on over her head, covering easily her loose blouse.

Clint's eyes glanced down briefly, as though somehow affording her privacy, before he shifted toward the door to once again unlock it. "We'll have to eat on the way," he stated, glancing back at her for a reaction.

Jessica bunched her hair behind her head and slipped on the hood, following his steps to the door after hugging her possessions. She offered a quick nod in response to meeting his gaze, merely doing her best to be a good client.

Clint looked back at her upon feeling her draw behind. He smiled a little, acknowledging her readiness. "Let's go." With that, he pulled the door open, calmly slipping on sunglasses as they strode down the hall.

They moved straight through the lobby, and the clerk didn't seem to mind, Jessica observed. He must've already checked out? The chill of early morning swept within her hood and through her uncombed hair, the bite of lingering night sending a shiver along her skin. Much as she'd love to be an early bird, Jessica had always thought no human being should be up before the sun.

A normal, tan Sedan – about as inconspicuous as one could get in the middle of France – was the vehicle Clint led her to. Soon they were in, with him driving and her slipping on a seatbelt, luckily escaping any traffic – one advantage to being up when no one else was. After a couple minutes of settling in, Clint tilted his head to gesture toward the back. "Should be a Ziploc'd plate back there with breakfast if you're hungry."

Jessica smiled a little, glancing back at the seat but remaining too stiff for any other action. "Thank you, but…I don't think I could eat right now…" Her eyes lowered to her hands uneasily, trying very hard to keep a brave face for the poor guy.

Clint glanced at her a few times but hesitated before speaking. "You're safe with me, Miss Evans. Maybe more safe than you think."

Jessica lifted her gaze to him, mouth opening to quickly counter the reaction.

"I'm gonna get you home," Clint finished, coolly meeting her anxious gaze.

She quickly shook her head, speaking up to clarify. "No, I didn't meant to…imply that…" The glint in his eyes, a bit softened and light despite his seriousness, trailed off her words. He hadn't thought she'd been implying anything; he'd only been trying to reassure _her_.

With a hesitant smile, she nodded again, eyes lowering. "I…can't thank you enough; really not sure what I would've done." She chuckled half-humorlessly at the absolute truth.

Clint smirked subtly, vibrant eyes back on the road. "Thank me when you're safely home and that creep's in jail."

Jessica laughed a little wearily, shifting to rest her head back on the seat. Drifting into her thoughts, she grew silent.

Glancing at her once more, he kept driving, allowing the silence to remain.

Five or ten minutes passed with the awkward…absolutely nothing being said. _Surely there is something I could talk about, but how classified is he…just…as a person?_ _Well, I guess we'll find out. Here goes_. With an internal wince, a new conversation sprung from her good intention of getting to know the mysterious agent. "Ssso…" she cleared her throat. _Weak start with a crackly voice._ "You, uh, go on missions like this all the time?" she casually asked, eyebrows furrowing as she realized just how much she sounded like a goob asking.

Clint glanced at her when she talked, face momentarily blank toward her question. "'Like this,' maybe not. Missions, absolutely." His eyes crinkled when he looked toward her again, seemingly easygoing toward the conversation, to her happy surprise.

Eyes brightening with interest – she'd always been a fan of cop shows and mystery novels as a teenager – she shifted in her seat while continuing. "You must travel around a lot then." Carefully stepping around potentially classified information, she went for a broad question. "Do you like it?"

A bit more of a smile formed with another glance away from the road. "Oh, yeah," he answered easily, "Traveling's great. A little less great at 5 in the morning," the passing comment was accompanied with a nod toward the car clock: _5:13, _"but I still enjoy it."

Jessica laughed a little. The sleepiness drooping her eyes alone told her she was up too early, but to have an agent comment on it made him feel a bit more…human? "Yeah, I…I know what you mean. Coming to France seemed just…so incredible to me…" Her eyes grew more animated with further thought into the topic. "Not quite the country I've been hoping to see, but…it's still beautiful."

Clint glanced at her several times through her talking, but a light smirk formed with a spark of curiosity. "What kinda country were you hopin' to see?"

Jessica smiled, gazing up at the copper streetlights and endless array of massive French buildings. So much the opposite of her answer to Clint's question. "Somewhere…open and fresh. A place you can breathe, you know?" She glanced in his direction with a more relaxed smile. "I've always liked the idea of Australia or...well, definitely Ireland." Her lips pressed together, looking to him for a response.

"I've been," he nodded with little pause. "They're both exactly that. Open, fresh, almost like an alien planet but somehow exactly the same." His eyes crinkled, glancing toward her as though recognizing her passion for the subject.

Jessica grinned a little, easing into the conversation more and more. "Well, I definitely have to get down there then!" She paused, shrugging toward him. "So out of everywhere you've been, what was your favorite place?" Her head tilted, curiously watching him.

Clint focused on making a turn across the busy intersection but looked at her once again when finished. "Uhh, I'd have to say Canada." He smirked as though she might've thought his answer was odd.

Jessica's eyes crinkled with surprise but genuine interest. "Really?" she grinned, "Why is that?"

Clint shook his head, hardly on a long search to explain. "The scenery was…breath-taking. The people were probably the world's friendliest."

"Hm…I'd love to see that…" she commented, drifting a bit more into thought as her tension from reality gradually receded.

Clint grunted a little in response, shrugging. "Maybe you'll get there some day…I'm here to ensure you get the chance, Miss Evans."

Jessica softened her smile, considering a moment. "You know, you can just call me Jessica," she offered politely, frowning as potential repercussions questioned the statement, "Unless that's…too informal for your mission or…"

She stopped there with a small laugh when he glanced in her direction with a slightly teasing smirk. "Generally not wise, considering we're undercover." He exhaled with exaggeration, drawing a bit more of a laugh from her.

"Ohh," she shook her head, eyebrows furrowing in playful shame, "That's a good point. I take it back, you can't."

He shrugged, his tone returning to mere friendliness. "I could call you _Lynne._"

Jessica's eyebrows raised at first. Had she told him her middle name? _Oh…mission file..duh._ "That would work," she smiled, recovering quickly from the surprise. With that she relaxed into her seat, the awkwardness diminishing as a crust of orange awakened amidst the once starry night sky. The sun was finally rising.


	3. Segment 3

**Rescue Mission**

_Segment 3_

As the morning fully awakened and the busy airport drew near, the two grew understandably silent with anticipation. Tension rose far more abruptly when Clint located a spot in a lower level of the parking garage and they were soon unclicking their seatbelts. It was time to move.

"Alright, stay close to me, act natural as you can," Clint strode around the car to the passenger side, his voice lower but clear in the quiet, unpopulated garage. "You're not gonna wear your hood up here 'cause we're more at the mercy of French security's suspicion than an assault from Falcone."

Jessica nodded and listened as dutifully as she could, his commands blasting like a tornado through her muddled thoughts.

Apparently satisfied by her response, he turned to lead her toward an elevator, paying his watch a brief glance. "Alright, about an hour till our flight; let's get movin'."

Again, Jessica only silently complied, preoccupied with a sudden feeling of vulnerability. She could be under gunpoint right then with no moving vehicle to shield them. What if her ex-boss sent twenty guys into the very garage to eliminate her? Could Clint take on twenty thugs, trained and dangerous, no doubt, with such a resourceful employer?

The more she thought of possible ambushes or being sniped just like in the TV shows, the more her steps quickened, which hardly moved her ahead of Clint's brisk strides. At first glance, he appeared calm, but his jaw was tightened and his shoulders stiff as he walked. His vibrant blue eyes scanned their surroundings every moment they spent crossing the inner lot. Just as the final path to cross was all that they lacked, Clint reacted nearly simultaneously, pushing past her like a shield with a gun drawn at his side, facing the low growl of a smooth, revving engine.

Jessica tensed at Clint's reaction, stumbling a little at his sudden movement, but bracing her feet behind him just as a black Mustang sped from the end of the road straight toward them. Her breath escaped in an instant, leaving her to internally panic when Clint turned and shoved her across the path, further along.

"Go, go!" he hardly yelled it, but the urgent tone rang clear.

Jessica dashed to the elevator, Clint directly behind, and reached for the button, pressing it in scarcely before she was forced to the ground by a firm hand on her shoulder. "Get down!" Clint ordered through gritted teeth, the words overlapped by dozens of rattling gunshots tearing through the air.

Jessica dropped even further toward the ground than Clint had pushed her, instinctively covering her ears, stunned by how much realistically louder the assault rifle fire echoed. Gasping for air in the nightmarishly long moments, she jumped when her ally retaliated with two, solid pistol rounds. A man's screams followed, and the source was soon spotted bent halfway out the Mustang window, gun dangling by some shoulder strap.

"Did you get the elevator?" Clint called back, ducking behind the cover of a metal bin he'd kicked in the way of the enemy's sights.

"I-did…" her voice trailed off, daring to twist her neck enough to see the glowing button. She'd pressed it; surely it was coming soon. "Yeah, it's coming!" she called over the deafening squeal of tires rapidly rotating to reverse the aggressive vehicle.

Clint peered over his cover at the rushing Mustang; the passenger seat gunman blasted more assault rifle rounds straight at the two, causing the agent to duck behind, glancing in Jessica's direction to confirm she was safely hunkered down behind him. Thankfully, she had listened, staying close but safe once she'd hit the elevator button. When the AK-47 rounds ceased, Clint whipped out from behind, pistol aimed, and fired, the driver's head knocked back into his seat as the bullet passed the windshield and pierced straight between his eyes. Clint squinted to read the passenger's movement, observing one rushed hand grasping the wheel and jerking it straight toward a crash into their position, slamming on the gas pedal to board the sidewalk.

"Watch out!" Clint yanked his client along as she climbed to her feet, pinning her with an arm behind his back against a nearby wall as the car bashed through the bin and past the elevator where they'd just hidden. In that instant, the agent took a quick aim and fired two more shots through the windshield, only briefly confirming he'd hit his target before turning and crouching over Jessica in the shelter of the brick wall corner where the Mustang wouldn't reach, at least not without a live driver.

Further on, the vehicle crashed into a light pole, sparks showering down from a disturbed bulb above. Jessica stared over Clint's shoulder in silent shock at the victory until her protector turned and focused in on her to ask a question. "You alright?" he exhaled, pulling away from the close proximity to look her over then reload his pistol.

"Y-yeah," Jessica swallowed with a parched throat, "are you?" He'd been more shot at than her.

Clint looked at her again, eyes crinkling subtly as they seemed to out of amusement. "Yeah," he answered simply, gesturing with a hand to lead her to the elevator. The thick, metal doors still had yet to open, even after Clint had slammed the button in once more. Mere seconds passed before he faced her again. "Either out of service or tampered with – least they could've done is put up a sign," the sarcastic comment was half-mumbled but still a part of the interaction, the humor easing just a small fragment of Jessica's anxiety. "We're taking the stairs," with that, he led her to the stairway door, eyes inspecting outside and within the entrance as they approached.

Sounds of alertness arrived in the garage, presumably security, as the pair hurried up the steps into the expanse of the airport. Jessica glanced back at Clint, who was following close behind, eyes consistently scanning the path ahead of them. Despite his concentrating, she deemed her question necessary enough. "What will security do when they find those men?" she asked quietly while looking back.

Clint's eyebrows raised. "Investigate, but probably won't cancel our flight. French security isn't tight as the U.S."

Upon an undisturbed journey up the stairs, Clint slipped his gun under his jacket and swung open the door to reveal a public, heavily populated airport lobby. Whatever his thoughts on Falcone's actions or what they needed to do next he kept to himself, silently searching the perimeter with an intense gaze and merely glancing back at Jessica to make sure she was keeping up at his side.

Partially diagonal from her protector, Jessica searched every face that passed by, receiving some odd looks even when she attempted to press back half of her inner terror to blend in. But none were hostile. Wherever Falcone's men were, she couldn't find them anywhere. But with so many people surrounding them, hopefully no more gunman would blast through with bullets aimed at her head.

Clint stopped to check an information screen hanging from the ceiling before continuing their descent to a docking area, completely silent for the time being, and leaving Jessica to shaken thoughts and memories of the garage encounter. Realism had shown its stone cold face; she'd been in the middle of one of those cop show gunfights, and, even with the heroism of her protector being so brave and competent that he shot down each of Falcone's men, it had still been shooting them…killing them. Self-defense claims could work in court, but how did they fare in stomaching the sight of a man dying?

She awoke from her daze enough to move through security with merely a purse and jacket to be checked as carry-ons, to wait in silence with her escort right beside her, and to board the plane, but all the change still felt as a blur drifting past her until Clint had settled in the aisle seat beside her, finally speaking again.

"How you holdin' up?" he simply asked, glancing about the busied passengers before looking at her again.

"Mm, I'm," she paused to clear her throat, scraping away the dryness to speak up, "I'm okay." She managed a soft smile in his direction. It may not have been true last night in the hotel room or when the Mustang sped toward them or the assault rifles went off in a spray of dozens of fatal bullets, but – seeing Clint take out the enemy with one against three – she felt far safer than she had in a long time. Because of Clint Barton, she could truthfully answer that she _was_ okay…now.


	4. Segment 4

**Rescue Mission**

_Segment 4_

"Your son Mr. Frank Falcone, sir," the placid, female voice over the receiver ceased before the voice of Alistair Falcone's son lifted.

"I hear you're havin' some trouble overseas there. De snitch escape over de border yet?" Frank questioned, casually sniveling in his leather-lined chair within his father's New York City corporation.

"Boarded half an hour ago an' headed your way as we speak. You remember Miss Evans, Frankie."

There was a pause on the other end. "Yeah, remember her," he answered with a sharp edge to his voice, "Shame we have to waste _her_, I'd planned on takin' that doll somewhere different than the morgue."

"Plenty more dolls to play with, son," Alistair calmly exhaled, "Listen to me. Don't head 'em off at the airport. She's got a travelin' partner, and he's dangerous. He has to be government, bringin' a witness home for investigation. You have to eliminate 'em both, and you have to work fast."

Heaving a sigh, Frank replied, "I think Jess said she lived with her parents, to help 'em out. The doll won't be able to stand puttin' her sweet liddul modah in danger. I'll grab the old lady first."

Jessica started, tensing and catching herself from the sudden fall she'd dozed into. She cringed when Clint had turned his head to check on her, but the soft smile toward her ceased the embarrassment. "Did ya doze off?" he asked quietly.

She laughed a little shifting to face him instead of the window. "I must have." As Clint nodded, reseating a magazine he must've gotten bored with, Jessica rubbed the hazy, sleepiness from her eyes. "How long have we been up?"

Clint shrugged. "An hour. So we're…1/7 of the way there," his joking smile made the information slightly more bearable.

Jessica chuckled, hugging her jacket close against her to occupy her arms. "Never really liked math…I think 'we're part of the way there' or 'we've got a bit of a stretch left' might be more comforting," she teased sleepily.

Clint snorted, raising an eyebrow at her. "'Bit of a stretch'? That sounds _way_ too long! Least with 'we got six hours left,' you got something to go on."

"Aw, you had to say 'six hours'!" Jessica playfully dropped her head back against the seat.

Clint smirked, eyes shifting back toward the aisle when a flight attendant moved by.

Jessica's smile faltered in the pause, thoughts rushing in once more of all that had happened. So much to worry about, yanking her attention every which way until was stretched far too thin…'like butter over too much bread' as Tolkien's Bilbo Baggins would put it. Not only did she fear for herself but thoughts of the danger her family might face flashed before her in troubling 'what if's…anyone she loved could be someone Falcone might use to ensure her death. Clint had answered her questions in the car. She needed to record her testimony then she would be taken into protective custody somewhere; standard procedure, just a terrifying situation. Incidentally, the flight had been booked for Wyoming, a few hours from her parents' house. Almost before she'd asked, Clint assured her that they, too, wouldn't yet be alerted but that they would be protected. All she really had to _do_ right now was wait. But waiting in the silence only stacked on more anxieties. In her fearful rush of thoughts, the moment Clint spoke up again came as a break in her tense silence.

"So…" he began, not very awkwardly, merely to get her attention, "You always lived in Wyoming?"

The question was…sociable, like hers had been in the morning car ride. "Uh-no, actually. We moved around a lot when I was growing up, all across the states," she answered with a soft laugh. Then, something occurred to her, "You don't…already know that?" she paused to sound less direct.

Clint shrugged a little. "No, I do…" he answered, eyes crinkling just subtly in her direction. "You like it there?"

Though stunned by the friendliness, she was also warmed by it. "Well…yeah, I mean, it's friendly, weather's nice, except the never-ending wind," she groaned a little for emphasis.

He smirked, shaking his head. "I've basically only driven through the state; never stayed there long."

Jessica smiled, tilting her head to face him but still relax against her seat. "Well, next time you come through, at least stop in Cheyenne for drive-thru. We must have the best Chic-Fil-A there is."

Clint nodded, smiling subtly while he seemed to search for something else to say.

"Where…do you live? I mean, where's home for you?"

Clint's eyes watched hers briefly, before shrugging in his response. "I got a place up in Iowa. Never really there."

"Mm, don't you ever…get downtime in your line of work?" her eyes softened, watching him curiously.

Clint smirked, glancing in her direction. "Yeah, now and then, but I don't use it to visit an empty house."

Jessica's smile faltered just slightly. He'd spoken the words so casually, words she herself would have spoken out of loneliness. "Heh, yeah," she relaxed more, attempting to establish some connection to the statement, "my dad always said he dreaded the day all four of us left home. Didn't look forward to an empty house…"

"Yeah," Clint scoffed a bit lightly. "That wasn't my dad. He couldn't wait to get rid me and my brother…"

Jessica's eyebrows knit in surprise, mouth opening to reply but finding no words to gracefully comment with.

"'Course he was kind of a reckless drunk," he shrugged easily, glancing toward her with almost a humorless smirk.

She didn't know why, but there was a strange comfort in talking to him…one she never felt in comparison to avoiding any sensitive topic with a new friend, but...with this new friend, it almost felt natural to just ask. "What happened?" she softly released the question, still unsure of how he'd react.

Even in the midst of the experience, Jessica couldn't describe it. One moment they were casually conversing until the topic of home somehow drifted them into far deeper discussion. Jessica learned a little of Clint's past; he so readily shared it, fearing nothing of her infringing his privacy. Hours were filled with soft-spoken stories of a kid named Clint Barton, orphaned at a young age with his brother. Tales of how they survived, how they lived, how Clint had learned so many skills in circus and festival settings that he still used today as an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. Over a difference of morals had Clint and his brother separated. A man had once approached Clint with an offer to split profits of heists with him in exchange for his rare talents, but Clint refused. Disgusted by the moral choice made over the "wise" choice, Clint's brother Barney had ended up offering his services instead.

Though Clint had told her all of this with such nonchalance, Jessica was almost certain some pain remained and flickered in his eyes for all that he had lost. Slightly overwhelmed by that confidence he'd taken in her, Jessica struggled with knowing how honestly to react to the background, but the seeming comfort he bore in so easily sharing it eventually lifted her to fully truthful questions and responses while listening. She usually feared offended or arrogant reactions from people when she did so, but it soon seemed safe with him. "Do you know what ever happened to Barney?"

Clint's mouth twitched, his eyes growing distant. "No, he…" he inhaled, somehow needing another breath to finish, "The last time I saw Barney, he was standing over my body and left me for dead…after that I-didn't care-I didn't have a brother anymore…" After a short pause, his eyebrows furrowed subtly and he turned his gaze toward hers as though to read her expression.

Jessica, not quite sure how to feel about the story, nodded and dared to look straight into his eyes when saying, "I'm sorry."

In spite of the casual smirk, his eyes stayed steadily on hers. With a shrug, he mumbled, "What're you gonna do? Can't choose family."

Just then, the tone of the pilot addressing the plane sounded. "Attention, passengers, we are two hours out of Cheyenne and expect to arrive on-schedule. Enjoy the rest of the flight, and do not hesitate to consult a flight attendant should you require any assistance."

Jessica frowned with surprise. Had the time really passed so quickly?

"You know, you're brave though," the statement arrived abruptly and halfway under Clint's breath, but he looked at her after saying it. Upon receiving Jessica's questioning gaze, he elaborated. "Lotta people these days'd be too greedy or too freaked with a boss like Falcone. You stood up and left anyway, knowin' a bit of what he's capable of."

Jessica smiled just a little, eyes lowering under the weight of a compliment. "I was just doing what I thought was right…"

"Hm," Clint chuckled a little, almost with some bitter amusement, "Maybe if more people did that, the planet wouldn't be breakin' up around us."

She smiled a little more, eyes crinkling toward him admiringly. Eventually the conversation quieted, drifting Jessica back to rest. It had been a while since she felt relaxed enough to ease her eyes shut, but this plane ride had done the trick. Even with weariness overwhelming her, daring her to doze again, she remained half-conscious as thoughts of the discussion ever-flowed through her brain, all that she had learned of Clint Barton keeping her mind too active. The more she knew about him, the more questions she had. How much he had been through, terrible, life-shattering events she could hardly imagine having to survive, let alone come out of sane and stable. The more she learned of how many opportunities he'd had to go down a bad road, the more she realized maybe heroes really did exist, knowing the choices he made instead, kind of like the storybook characters she so admired in her teenage years; men made heroes by the choices they made, not by birth or inheritance.

A gentle touch to her shoulder opened her eyes once more. "Plane's about to land," Clint explained with a friendly half-smile.

"Mm, already?" she gradually straightened in her seat.

"Yeah," Clint chuckled, "You get any rest?"

"Mm-hm," Jessica nodded, her tone optimistic.

Clint chuckled. "And here I was worried some minor turbulence might have you screamin' in panic," he commented with a small grin. However, by now, he was pretty sure he could count on her not to panic irrationally. After that gunfight, after she'd sat through hours of his life story, if she hadn't screamed by now, she might not ever. She was a pretty easy client to be around. As they accompanied the rest of the passengers off the plane, Clint felt his phone vibrate in his jean pocket. The Caller ID read: _Nick Fury_.


	5. Segment 5

**Rescue Mission**

_Segment 5_

"You want me to do _what_, Sir?" Clint shifted his weight in mild irritation.

"Agent Barton, the man's gettin' dangerous. Dangerous _and_ popular among _too_ many of our enemies. The longer we wait, the more protection he gets from interested customers. Pretty soon he's gonna be difficult to find, even for us, and his operation will be no party to shut down! America can lock down its borders, but we'd just be givin' the problem to other countries; ones easier to disappear in, where he can happily retire a wealthy slave trader," Fury answered over the phone, clearly worn out from a prior council meeting.

Clint shook his head, glancing toward Jessica waiting patiently in the airport café. "Yeah, so we're reduced in all our worries to usin' an innocent woman as bait for Alistair Falcone? Director, if we make one wrong move, she's dead."

"Yeah, and think how many lives we _save_ if we do everythin'_ right_."

"Fury, she's a witness. You're really gonna _risk_ the witness?"

Fury countered readily. "Even if we didn't have her testimony, we can still take him down with what our intel's found out. She's not a necessity to the case; she'd be better used as bait to lure Falcone out."

Clint's jaw shifted, gaze lowering with his voice. "She has to agree to it. Citizenship at least gives her a choice."

"Not much of one, Agent Barton. But I leave it up to you to persuade her…and I expect your full cooperation in this. Your methods are up to you; just keep the secret if you don't think she can handle it."

Clint's mouth twisted. Lying. It was so much simpler sometimes. And yet he hadn't once felt the need to lie to Jessica.

"Are we on the same page, Barton?"

Clint's eyes narrowed toward the floor. "Yes, sir."

"Alright. Good luck, Agent Barton."

Clicking off his phone, he soon returned to the table, receiving a friendly smile from his companion despite his not-so-friendly gaze. "Hey, are you-ready to go?" he pressed back the previous conversation from his distant eyes, managing a deceptive half-smile.

If Jessica noticed something bothering him, she kept it to herself, only hesitating for a moment. "Yep," she answered, climbing to her feet with her purse and jacket. "Where to now?"

Clint nodded distractedly, leading her to the exit. "Uh, we're gonna take you to safety." He winced at her wholly trusting nod.

"Okay," she answered simply, apparently sensing he wanted to be vague right now.

Clint walked beside her through the automatic doors, eyes glancing placidly toward the reserved parking spot where his black and purple Mustang awaited them. "Then we'll," his mouth twisted subtly, glancing toward those pretty, curious blue eyes. All the consequences of the truth flashed before him…would she feel betrayed, would she hate him, or would she trust him as she had so many times already? In one second it all played out in his mind, and he made his choice. The moment they were both sitting in the car seats, he spoke over whatever she had just started to say. "Jess, I'm gonna be honest with you."

The sudden statement startled her, her eyebrows knitting as she watched him closely. With a slow nod, she quietly waited.

Clint shook his head, facing her in the driver's seat, momentarily frozen. "I've… been asked to escort you to your parents' house…'cause we want Falcone to find you."

Jessica's shoulders stiffened, but she scarcely reacted, still carefully listening to him.

"You'd be…bait so we could catch whoever he sends after you and…then we'd work our way up to the top of his operation…"

Jessica swallowed and nodded again as her focus drifted within her eyes, but she still remained silent.

"But I'm tellin' you all this because you've got a choice. No one's gonna force you to do this." Clint watched her, jaw tightened firmly. _At least not while I'm here._

Jessica thought a little longer, carefully choosing her response. Her gaze was more burdened looking back at him, but her voice had softened. "How much danger will my parents be in?"

Clint nodded a little, watching her eyes. "I'll be right there the whole time, several more agents'll be less than a block away. I'll personally keep you and your family alive."

Jessica nodded once more, eyes pacing with consideration. After a moment with Clint wondering if he should say or do anything more, her chin finally lifted as though ready to answer. "I'll do it."

Clint frowned subtly. "Just…like that? You don't even know S.H.I.E.L.D. that well but you trust us with your life?"

A gentled smile eased its way onto her troubled face. "I trust _you_ with my life," she softly answered, "You've already saved it once or twice."

Clint shook his head just a little in amazement, staring in utter bewilderment. She trusted him…really? Already? Smirking just slightly, he faced forward to turn the ignition.

Jessica's smile widened subtly, shifting to relax against her seat, stiffened as she was with inner fears. "Nice car, by the way," she commented with a small chuckle.

"Thanks," Clint's smirk widened, slipping on his shades before glancing toward her. "It's mine." With that he looked back and pulled out into the parking garage.


	6. Segment 6

**Rescue Mission**

_Segment 6_

Hours later, as the evening sun drowsily drifted upon the horizon, they pulled up to a brick suburban home, soon climbing out of the car to approach the door.

Jessica couldn't help grinning as she strode up beside her protector. "Now…fair warning; she _loves_ visitors." She flashed him an almost sympathetic look. As, over the phone to her mother, Jessica had ended up only expressing that a "friend" of hers would be coming home to visit and meet Mom and Dad, she anticipated a warm welcome, particularly for her "guest".

Clint turned his curious gaze from the home to her, slinging a duffel bag over his shoulder. "Uh-oh," he replied with a slight grin, "What kinda 'loves visitors'?"

Jessica pursed her lips, searching for an explanation. "Well, be ready for the worst and you…_might_ survive."

Clint's eyebrows rose, nodding playfully. "I'm ready for the worst," he affirmed with a smirk.

In that instant, the front door slammed open and a resounding shriek of joy sounded from the front porch.

Clint jumped, looking toward it with startled tension just as a name was cried out with sheer happiness.

"Jessiiiiiiiiiieeeeee!"the presumed mother emerged in a housedress and apron, stepping quickly but carefully down the porch steps with both arms extended for a hug. "Jessie, my little sweet potato, you get over here and hug yer momma!"

Jessie merely laughed, watching Clint jerk almost into fight-or-flight mode at the sudden boom.

Immediately softening, his hand subtly lowering away from the gun under his jacket again, the agent watched the sturdy, middle-aged woman tackle her daughter in a bear-like hug.

"Heeey, Mom! How you been?" Jessie giggled, hugging her mother tightly even as the woman bounced in place and wiggled her with excitement.

"Oh, my goodness, girl!" Momma gasped, backing away to look her daughter over, "Been to France and all over now, my little world traveler!" Before Jessie could respond, her mother already turned her attention to Clint, who had been silently and pleasantly observing. "And who is _this_ dashing fellow?" she asked with a suspicious smile.

Clint smiled easily, politely offering his hand. "Clint Barton, ma'am."

Momma's eyebrows lifted, as though already impressed. "Clint Barton, what a strong-sounding name!" With that she pressed her way right past his hand and went straight for hug.

Jessie's jaw started to drop, starting to intervene as though she wasn't sure how he'd take it but was relieved when he merely snorted and gently hugged her momma back.

"Pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Evans," Clint replied with a chuckle.

Patting his shoulders as she pulled back, she gave him a wide, welcoming smile. "So glad to have you here, Mr. Barton!" With that, she moved back to hug Jessie once more. "Ohhh, come on inside; your father won't be home until tomorrow, so we're eatin' light!"

Grinning, Jessie followed behind. "Alright, sounds good," she answered simply, giving Clint one last glance back as she held the screen door for him to come inside next.

Catching the door with a brief smile in her direction, Clint awaited both of them to travel further into the house before carefully scanning the neighborhood once over, his smile faltered readily.

Momma bustled inside with her daughter. "Your room is all cleaned up and ready, but we need to make the bed in the guest room for Clint-can I call you Clint?" she called back to him as he came in a moment later, though continuing straight into the kitchen before he answered.

Clint raised his voice just loud enough to answer, still carrying both of their bags in one hand at his side. "Sure can, Ma'am."

"Oh, good," Momma exhaled, wiping her forehead. "It is so _hot_ in this house! Jessie, can you come help me?"

"Nah, it's not too bad…" she began to answer, trailing off with a chuckle just as her momma changed the subject, "Yup, comin'!"

Clint glanced after her, eyes moving about the room before he made his way toward the stairs to locate the guest room.

Momma bustled about the kitchen, softening with tears almost immediately when she saw her daughter walk in. "Oh, Jessie, I am so glad you're home," she sniffed, hand tragically on her chest. In a moment's time, she was hurriedly embracing her daughter close once again.

Jessie's grin faded at the sad scene, laughing softly in surprise until the realism of all that had happened since she was last home flooded her mind. "I missed you, Mom; it's…really good to be home." Just hearing the sniffles from her mother against her shoulder made it all the more difficult to not collapse in her own tears right there. Her mother was unknowingly caught up in danger…she was being used as bait…she could die with one wrong move on the good guys' part. Jessie almost didn't hear her mother speak up again, her hearing blurred until her momma reached that old cheery tone once more.

"Tell me all about France!" she exclaimed, placing her hands proudly on her daughter's burdened shoulders.

Jessie's eyebrows arched. A twist of guilt ached in her stomach for fear that she might have to lie. "Oh, it…" she shrugged, choosing her words carefully, "It was a business trip, so not a lot of sightseeing, but, oh, Europe is so beautiful, Mom!" Her smile was genuine, but her eyes paced, quickly traveling through facts that weren't confidential. "I met Clint there," her cheery tone masked the tension as she smiled fondly toward the name.

Something clanged on the counter, jerking Jessie on edge till she saw her Momma staring at her as though abruptly frightened. "He's French?" she merely exclaimed the trivial concern, to her daughter's relief.

Laughing in surprise, she shook her head quickly. "No, no! Well-uh…" she actually didn't know. "I don't think he is. I mean, he was traveling too when I met him." That much she knew.

"Oh, good!" her mother sighed, bustling back over to the stove to snatch a mitten off the counter. "Your father would have had a cow!" With that, she reached into the oven for a large casserole pan of enchiladas. "I am so tired, all this cookin'!" she exclaimed with a light chuckle to cover the complaint.

Jessie grinned slowly, easing into a new discussion gratefully. "_That's _eating light? Ah, you love cookin', Mom," she teased, lifting a hand to massage her mother's back. "How're your feet doin', Mom?"

At that point, her mother traveled to do something else, limping a bit more noticeably as an afterthought. "Oh, they're fine when I'm not on them all day." She looked over toward the doorway, also drawing Jessie's attention to it.

Clint had returned with a relaxed smile once more. "Jess, I wasn't sure where your room was; I just put your bag on the livin' room table," he remarked with a brief gesture to the room behind him.

Jessie smiled and nodded to him, reaching for a knife to chop some vegetables. "Thank you, Clint," with a playful grin, she continued, "Well, I hope you're hungry. Mom's enchiladas are coolin' right now."

Smirking, Clint turned his attention to Momma once more. "Appreciate it, Ma'am. Anything I can help with?"

Momma practically interrupted him. "Oh, no, dear. We've got it!" As Clint nodded simply, leaning to the side in the doorway to stay out of the way, Momma opened conversation once more to slake her curiosity. "Tell me, Clint, where were you headin' when you met Jessie?"

Despite Jessie's tension toward the question as she carefully chopped a carrot, Clint smiled easily, sliding his hands into his jean pockets. "I had originally planned on seeing France on the way to Germany," he answered, glancing toward Jessie with a smile, "Meeting Jessie changed my plans."

Far as Jessie knew, that much was true as well, but Momma clearly wouldn't understand the reason behind his statement.

Watching them, Momma's eyebrows rose slowly, as though she just witnessed something exciting but she wasn't quite sure if it was time to celebrate. "So…you put your whole trip on hold and came home with Jessie?"

Jessie's eyes lifted from the veggies toward him, listening with the intent to appear casual. Her eyes deepened slightly with admiration when he looked at her, yet him looking back suddenly became burdensome, and she quickly lowered her gaze to the counter. It had been the most unexpected sensation, being almost unable to meet his eyes! When had that changed? Her cheeks felt hot suddenly with the silent experience; she prayed neither of them had noticed.

Clint continued to respond with nonchalance. "We weren't really even friends at first; were just in the same hotel building. But…" he shrugged easily, "She charmed me pretty quick, Ma'am. I could tell she had some kinda real life in her eyes."

Jessie's shoulders tightened, somehow touched by the compliment. But, obviously, it was just a lie. This wasn't his first "rodeo"…he was undercover and good at it. She pressed that odd dizzy feeling back, ashamed she had wondered if his words could be anything more than a cover story.

Momma smiled proudly, obviously convinced. "That's Jessie. She's got flocks of boys chasin' after her." Abruptly, she turned her attention to her daughter. "Which reminds me! That boy from your work called and asked when you'd be home!"

Jessie woke up immediately from her clouds of thoughts, alerted by mention of an enemy. Frank Falcone: he'd always been very friendly at work…a little too friendly in Jessie's opinion, but it wouldn't look strange to her mother if he asked after her. She caught Clint's warning expression when glancing at him for any instruction. "Oh, uh, really?" she pursed her lips, feigning nonchalance. "He might've just been checking in before he left-I think he was planning a trip out of the states." She quickly turning to the veggies to conceal the burn of tension.

Momma shook her head calmly. "No, he said to have you call him when you get home. His number is…" she fumbled for a small piece of paper off the fridge, "Here." Snatching it, she quickly offered it to her daughter. "I would've thought he'd know how to get in touch with you, being coworkers and all…Oh, is it true you…" The tone abruptly sobered, as she glanced toward Clint with concern for a private question. When Jessie looked toward her, she finished, "…quit your job?"

Jessie's eyebrows furrowed, taking the paper as she listened. Her jaw tightened at the question, forming a small saddened smile. "Yeah, Mom, we can..." she shrugged away any attached emotion, "I'll tell you about that some other time." Her response arrived with an awkward laugh, using the appearance that a guest could prevent the difficult discussion.

Clint calmly pushed off the doorframe to leave, pretending he should give them some privacy. "Speakin' of, I've gotta go call my own boss. Excuse me for a sec?"

Momma nodded toward her daughter slowly like she understood, glancing after Clint as he left. A moment later, once again completely changing the mood, she leaned in toward her daughter with a sudden conspiring grin. "So…" her tone was almost sing-song with the mischievous motive behind it, "Do I hear…wedding bells in the future?"

Jessie's eyes widened in genuine surprise. "Mom!" she exclaimed, but quietly for concern of Clint overhearing. She couldn't stop it, but she felt her cheeks begin to flush again.

Momma lifted her hands defensively. "Well, he left Europe to fly home with you! What was I _supposed_ to think?" she expressed in a shrill voice.

Jessie laughed, shaking her head as she snatched one more carrot from the sink to resume cutting. But her eyes grew hazy with thought. She could still hear Clint's words about her as he talked to her mom, as though he were repeating them right beside her. That husky voice…those engaging, blue eyes…the little smirk when he looked right at her amidst the story. No! She chopped one carrot slice a bit hard into the cutting board, snapping herself back to reality. It was all a cover-up…he was undercover, he was an agent doing his job…he was getting paid to say those things, to act that way. But while he only cared for her to the extent of his job requirements…was she starting to care for him _beyond_ that?


	7. Segment 7

**Rescue Mission**

_Segment 7_

She almost didn't go in. _Go straight to bed, call a simple 'good night' as you go by. _She didn't. _You're falling in love with him! _She scolded herself all the way down the hall to the open doorway to the guest room. There he was, seated casually on the bed, folding some T-shirts with about as much boyish carelessness as she'd expect and tossing them in a clumsy stack. Her heart dropped like an anchor at the very sight of him. _Oh, no_. She whimpered internally when he looked up and smiled an easy greeting. _He saw you. Now you have to go in._

As she cautiously stepped in, she stole a guilty glance at that strong, tan forearm as he tossed another boring shirt. What was it about men's forearms? So tough and steady…she blinked away such thoughts when he spoke up. _No, not the voice!_

"Momma in bed?" he asked with a teasing smile. At dinner, Momma had _insisted_ he call her that, all part of her matchmaking ruse, welcoming him straight into the family so he'd buy her daughter a ring!

Grinning before she'd even realized it, probably too much the way she was feeling, she laughed softly to make it appear a little less…stalker-ish. _No, don't think of yourself as a stalker! You just think he's cute; no big deal. _She resolved to remain confident, casual, and act like there was nothing but a developed friendship between them. In that instant, she realized she'd spent a couple seconds without answering him! "Yeeeah, she turned in," fluidly, she sat on the bed too, the pile of laundry between them. _Keep your distance. This is just his job. _"Clint," _no lingering on his name, _"thank you so much for doing this." She shook her head, genuinely grateful; that much she didn't have to hide. "With…you here, I don't have to worry if she'll be safe." The more serious circumstance sobered her up; finally something could distract her from her inner fantasies.

Watching her with a simple smile, he nodded. "I'm glad I got assigned to this mission." She braved the dangers of looking him in the eyes or of reading too far into those odd words, only to find herself startled at what he said next. "I've…never liked protectin' someone so much." Simple and unexplained. That was all he said about it, and she had no idea how to take it.

She hoped it didn't show on her face that she was speechless. His eyes were solidly fixed on hers when she finally looked up; he was still smirking and just watching her with gentled blue eyes, almost like he was thinking about something…just lost in thought, maybe? Daring to keep the locked gaze, she focused in on his face for a quiet, searching moment. Then she felt her cheeks heating up; she had to be blushing. Maybe in the dim lamplight, he wouldn't notice.

Clint's smile gentled after a moment, his eyes somehow deepening in on hers. Then, abruptly, actually startling her in her guilty tension, he leaned forward and lifted a warm hand to touch her cheek. Her body seized with surprise, but he proceeded fearlessly. Gently, he brought his face forward and brushed his lips across hers, kissing her with the softest, warmest kiss she could ever imagine.

Jessie felt every part of her melt, all tension and fear vanishing. That weightless feeling of relief. Her hope had come true; she didn't dare question or guess as to his intentions. It was one of those rare occasions when she didn't try to predict or plan ahead, when she didn't try to doubt or humble herself in the idea that she might be overthinking it. He did like her…he did care about her…and he _did_ just kiss her. She nearly forgot to breathe even after he slowly pulled back, and she didn't want him to go.

She was so close to him. His blue eyes were gentle and tracing her face as though awaiting a reaction when she met his gaze. She wasn't in control of her expression in that moment, but she thought it might've been a smile, judging by the way his countenance crinkled as he smiled back. Before she knew it, he moved in for another, more confident kiss. This time, she kissed back.

The sensation was indescribable. Warmth and comfort surrounded her as his large, strong hand cradled her face and his lips caressed hers. It could've lasted an eternity with the pure joy she felt. Her shoulders drooped and relaxed as she too lifted a hand to touch the one he held on her face.

The moment finally passed. He pulled his face away with a quiet exhale. Finally, she sighed, softly and nervously, constantly wondering what she should be doing next.

Watching her carefully, Clint caressed her cheek once more with his thumb before lowering his hand, a tenderness that drooped her eyelids halfway in a dreamy daze. "I've wanted to do that for a while now," he softly commented, chuckling almost as though making fun of himself.

With a small smile, she felt the nearness of his forehead and allowed hers to rest against it. "Me too." It was like a dream; the feeling was unforgettable, the joy, the wonder, but all that happened was blurred, wrapped up in her emotions. There was a lot of silence, in which she wondered if she should say something, but he appeared merely lost in his thoughts as they sat there in closeness to one another.

Finally, he turned away, facing outward from the bed while she still sat there near unable to move. "I, uh…" he lifted his gaze toward the ceiling, releasing a husky, almost uneasy chuckle as his jaw shifted in thought. "I've got a lot to think about…Jess…" he honestly stated, but his eyes looked to hers abruptly as though searching for her reaction.

Smiling calmly, actually finding the bluntness refreshing, she nodded her understanding. "Me too," she softly replied. Though hesitant, she decided to lift a hand to his shoulder, gently massaging it as she did any she wanted to comfort or relay affection to. Then, she slowly climbed to her feet. "Good night, Clint," she smiled, completely relaxed as she turned to walk away.

"'Night," Clint mumbled, his gaze following her thoughtfully.

Jessie barely felt the plush carpet beneath her bare feet as she walked out into the hallway, down to her room, and into bed. There was no way to suppress the smile on her lips before she turned her head into the fluffy embrace of her pillow with a quiet, absolutely girly squeak. She _was _in love.


	8. Segment 8

**Rescue Mission**

_Segment 8_

The following morning found Jessie up with the sun and with newfound energy. She had the electric mixer for pancake batter working while she turned some bacon on the stove, light upbeat music gently setting the ambience. Over and over, she stole guilty glances toward the doorway to the kitchen, eager for a certain agent to appear.

It was in between glances that her wish was granted. Clint quietly entered the kitchen while she hurried around with her cooking, and he paused at the door upon catching sight of her. He cared about her…far more than he'd realized until last night. But this was no vacation for him. His job was to protect her and her family; if anything were to interfere with his objectivity, he could jeopardize it all…any attachment he felt to her…could compromise the mission.

How could he have been such an idiot…kissing her the night before? No woman had ever made him slip up like that, but it had felt so right at the time. Only later, did he think of it as a mistake. Continuing into the kitchen before she noticed him standing still, he casually approached the cabinets to get a glass of water, in the midst of one of those rare occasions where he didn't know what to do or how to fix this. "Mornin'," he greeted with a little smile, but one look from her might tear away at his casual façade in an instant.

Jessie looked over, quickly brightening, but he kept his eyes downward as he traveled to the sink. "Good morning," she replied, but softly, and her smile was slow and wary. She, too, wasn't sure what to do with this…this thing they'd formed between them. Her eyes watched him a curious moment before the sizzling bacon regained her attention.

Clint glanced back her way by the time she'd looked down again, smiling as he turned off the faucet after filling his glass. "Momma up yet?" he asked before taking a drink.

Jessie's eyebrows lifted, shaking her head. "No, I haven't seen her yet." Despite the disappointment he hadn't come right out with what they both were thinking, she laughed a little and continued. "She's not really an early riser though..."

Clint smiled too but gave no response, merely leaning against the nearby kitchenette table with his water.

Jessie's breathing grew slightly uneasy as she began loading the bacon slices onto a plate with paper towels. He was standing near her…yet he wasn't going to say anything? Maybe he wasn't sure where she stood on it. Or maybe he just kissed her and it hadn't meant anything…but why would he do that? Hurrying over to the mixer to turn it off and begin the pancake cooking, she stole a couple of glances at him all throughout her movement. What could she say? He said he needed to think; she didn't want to be pushy.

Clint's gaze remained lowered often. As she shifted away from him, he stiffened at the thought of _something_ he could do to occupy himself…something that he actually should be doing. "How close are your neighbors?" he asked, setting the glass on the table and moving over to a nearby window.

Jessie looked over at him, hopes for a certain topic disappointed again. Pursing her lips, she nodded a bit awkwardly. "Uh-we have a considerable amount of yard space; the next house is several feet behind those trees." She nodded toward the trees out the same window as she passed by toward the griddle she'd had preheating on the counter. "It's…fairly private considering the area," she half-mumbled, stirring the batter before beginning to scoop it onto the hot surface.

Clint nodded, his voice soft and distracted. "That's good…" He glanced toward her, looking down immediately after as though seeing her was committing a crime, hands resting on his hips in silent thought.

Jessie's mouth twisted, watching the batter slowly bubble…and form near-perfect circles on the griddle. When had this become less than simple? She'd hoped the kiss meant the questioning was over, but it had only gotten worse; now he was hardly talking to her! Straightening, she gathered courage to bring it up herself. Casually, she turned while the pancakes cooked behind her, leaning both hands behind her against the counter. She watched him for a moment with a small, questioning smile, giving him one last opportunity to see how open she was for…anything.

Clint looked at her too. Though hesitant, his eyebrows raised a little curiously, and he formed a slight smile. "What?" he asked.

Even now, she blushed at meeting his gaze, but her confidence had certainly been fortified by last night. "I, uh," with a soft laugh, she turned her gaze down. Maybe not. "I barely slept last night." Boy, that was beating around the bush! She winced probably visibly at her failed attempt.

His reaction confirmed the failure. Brows furrowing, he shifted a little, nowhere near sure what she was getting at. "Why's that?"

Thoughts rushed to her brain of how to clean up the mess she'd just made over the conversation. "Oh, it's…" she shook her head, trying to shrug it all off, "I just had a lot on my mind, I guess." Before he could speak up, she hurried to change the topic. "Oh, there's a fresh pot of coffee, by the way," she laughed a little, turning to flip the pancakes she'd probably burned. So much for a courageous step; in reality, he was scaring her…why would such a kiss have meant nothing? Her stomach turned at the thought of it; had she been wrong again?

Clint watched her carefully, eyebrows still knit together. Beginning to step toward her, he opened his mouth to ask right when Momma hobbled sleepily in with a heavy blue bath robe on. This stopped him immediately in his tracks, pulling him back to leaning against the kitchenette table, subdued by the loss of privacy.

"Morning…" Momma mumbled groggily.

"Mornin', Ma'am," Clint answered quietly, eyes downcast.

"Morning," Jessie softly replied, guilt rushing in catching sight of a man she'd probably horribly confused and burdened by now. Pressing back her emotions, she smiled as her mother passed by in a straight path to the coffee pot. Reaching for a plate to furnish the pancakes, Jessie elected to let it go for now…but that was easier said than done.

Clint watched the young woman maneuver about the kitchen, about her sleepy mother, and looked down abruptly when a little smile stole away on his face. His mind was stretched so many different ways; he couldn't afford being distracted…not if he was going to save her life.

Momma coughed and cleared her throat then began pouring coffee for herself. "Morning, darling. Morning, Clint," she mumbled, continuing the greetings as she approached the fridge.

Clint glanced up toward Momma as she moved, but his eyes drifted subconsciously toward her daughter almost instantly. She was cringing right as a bit of batter slipped off the bowl's edge onto the counter and hurrying for a paper towel. He couldn't help smiling again. Clumsy, he thought, inhaling deeply and turning his head away again. "I'll," he cleared his throat, standing again, "be back in a little bit." He turned to leave at a brisk stride; he needed to look around the neighborhood…and clear his head.

Jessie watched him leave in subtle disappointment, not even bothering to hide that she was staring, but he didn't look back.

"Mm, what's for breakfast?" Momma asked, finally cheering up out of her grogginess after a few sips of coffee.

Smiling in her direction, Jessie swept her emotions away once more. "Well, we've got pancakes and bacon so far, and I was thinking I'd slice some fruit!"

Even by the time Momma had gotten dressed and the two were sitting down to eat, Clint hadn't returned. More and more Jessie glanced toward the front door, toward the upstairs…she wasn't actually sure where he'd gone. She'd called to him about breakfast and received no response. Worry was clouding her eyes the longer he took to return, but Momma was totally cheerful, munching away at her pancakes and conversing about all sorts of everyday topics…most of them Jessie missed, offering only half-hearted responses as her mind was elsewhere. Three brisk knocks on the door jerked her back to reality.

Jessie immediately tensed, unsure of what to do or say to stop her mother from responding.

"Oh, who could that be?" Momma muttered, climbing to her feet to go answer the door.

Eyes widening, Jessie also climbed to her feet as her mother disappeared behind the dining room wall into the living room. Slipping behind the cover of the wall to listen for the click of the front door, she wished desperately for Clint to come back.


	9. Segment 9

**Rescue Mission**

_Segment 9_

Jessie's heart pounded her chest violently as she helplessly watched her mother bustle up to the front door. What possible way could she stop her from answering it without blowing the entire secret mission? Where was Clint? He would know what to do! Body stiff and limbs aching with dread, she pinned herself against the wall blocking her view from the door and listened with bated breath for the visitor's identity.

The door knob turned with a click, and Momma let out a sociable greeting immediately. "Oh, hello, Frankie! Such a delight to see you here!"

Jessie's heart dropped like an anchor. Frankie. Her ex-boss's son. Her body yearned to retreat, yet she couldn't budge, cold and at a loss for where to run.

"'Ey, Mrs. Evans. I was driving by and thought I could see if Jessica got home yet?" the tough Jersey accent dangerously filled the room despite its mask of nonchalance.

Jessie pressed her palm hard as she could on the wall, her lips clamped together mercilessly. It was very likely he was there to kill both of them…or shut her up in some other way for what she knew…What if he had a gun on her mother right now? Her heart pleaded for Clint to show up, throbbing loudly in her eardrums amidst her attempts to stay silent.

"Oh, yes, Jessie got home just yesterday evening! Come on in; she'd love to see youuu!" Momma enthusiastically answered.

Jessie's throat was too dry to swallow. Her mind raced with images of a jet black gun, a bullet piercing both of their bodies…blood…screams…her mother dying…her eyes dared to tear up, but she restrained them. She had to delay! She had to trust Clint…he would be there.

"That's great, Mrs. Evans," Frankie stepped inside, coming into a view with his slicked-back hair, classy black suit, and smirk on his tan face.

Straightening her shoulders and resting one hand still on the wall casually but for actual stability for her weakened legs, Jessie forced herself to step into the doorway to face the deadly visitor. Putting on her best surprised but friendly smile, she let out the most innocent greeting she could muster. "Oh, hey, Frank! How are you?" Her eyes casually looked over him, actually trying to scope out a gun yet to be drawn. The loose over jacket of his suit could easily conceal one.

With a slight charming grin, Frankie took a step closer when he saw her, hands resting nonchalantly in his pockets. "Hey, Jess, you look gorgeous today."

Momma was standing a little to the side, smiling as though she fancied them a lovely couple, but Jessie's eyes subtly flickered fear with every step he took closer. _Just delay_, she told herself, standing her ground, _trust Clint will get here._ "Oh-thank you, but you caught me a little…off-guard," she teasingly gestured toward her apparel, which consisted of a T-shirt, jeans, and no socks or shoes.

Frankie's smirk widened a little, his eyes narrowing just a bit dangerously watching her. "That's the best time." He glanced toward Momma as he continued. "Jess, you mind if I talk to you outside a moment?"

Jessie's shoulders stiffened like blocks of ice as she cautiously replied. "Um, yeah, I'll…go get my jacket." It was an excuse to delay and get upstairs. Now to get her mother away from him…assuming he was still willing to continue the polite façade. "Oh, Mom!" she turned toward her mother on her way to the stairs. "Didn't you say you needed to…grab your medicine after you ate? It's, uh, by your bed – I didn't want to forget to remind you!"

"Oh, yes, be right back, dear!" Momma answered simply and obliviously, heading toward the stairs.

Jessie waited for her mother to go first and flashed Frankie an including smile. "I'll be _right_ back!" Her body forced breathing in and out as she hurried up the stairs, looking away before observing Frankie's countenance darkening watching her go.

At a reasonable pace down the hallway, she glanced in every room she passed. Clint was nowhere to be found, which only scared her more. Where could he be? Was he okay? Why would he leave? She toyed with the idea of telling her mother to just run out the door; she would take her own chances against Frankie in that case…so long as her mother got out…but little to no confidence reinforced that plan. There could be dozens of men waiting outside too! No, Clint was her only hope. She had to delay until he got there…just to wait for him. He'd be there...wouldn't he?

Her thoughts dispersed at the feeling of someone coming up behind her right as she'd entered her bedroom. Terror pulsed in her chest when she turned around to find Frankie abruptly advancing on her, eyes ablaze with anger.

She'd barely released a startled gasp when he reached out a strong hand to clutch a handful of her hair and shove her further into her room.

Jessie nearly choked on a gasp as she landed half on her bed then stumbled to the carpet below from the force, pain burning her scalp. She scrambled to her feet when she heard the solid click of a door closing quietly behind her attacker…amazing how much it reminded her of a gun trigger in that instant. "Wh-what are you doing?" she watched him, unblinking with widened eyes, mind searching frantically for any possible escape.

Frankie scoffed and yanked a gun smoothly from under his jacket, immediately pointing the barrel at her. "You shouldn't have run, Jess. Now we gotta take care o' you…the ugly way." His angered voice had lowered dangerously.

Jessie stared unwaveringly at the gun, already feeling the fatal bullet piercing her flesh before he'd even fired. There was nothing more to say…nothing more to do…he was going to kill her…right there; no dramatic buildup or bad guy monologue…she was going to die…the obsidian weapon stared her down with cold calculations…his finger traced the trigger just before applying pressure.

But the explosion of the bullet released from the gun…never came! Shattering the thick and deadly silence, her bedroom window was suddenly smashed by a body's impact. Jessie jumped back with a sharp gasp as she watched Clint burst through on some kind of suspended rope and kick her attacker back into the wall mid-swing.

Frankie grunted in pain as he flew back and dropped to the ground, his gun hitting the floor a small distance beside him.

Jessie watched the S.H.I.E.L.D. agent stride after her attacker, eyes intently on his target and jaw tight with inner rage. A subtle limp hindered his walking – he'd already seen some kind of battle, but that didn't stop him from gripping Frankie's shirt and yanking back to his feet to slam him against the wall. Scarcely able to stand from the shock, she naturally shifted more behind Clint but out of way. Intense relief betrayed her attempts to suppress her tears any longer as they stung her eyelids to emerge.

Frankie coughed and squirmed under Clint's iron grip. "Who are ya, CIA?" he growled, eyes wider from the sudden threat.

Clint slugged him in the face, perhaps a little harder than necessary, not even bothering to answer.

Frankie's head snapped back painfully, and he struggled more. "You let go of me, or you'll regret this!"

Clint punched him again, awaiting the sort of dazed and submitted look in Frankie's face before asking his question, voice low and dangerous. "Tell me what you're doing here, or I'll hit you again. Go." His other hand fingered something in his jacket's pocket, Jessie silently observed, while awaiting the young Falcone's response.

Frankie scoffed, jaw hanging open in his dizziness. "What do you think I was doin' 'ere, smart guy?"

Clint slugged him again. "Not what I asked. Try again," he coldly demanded.

Frankie glared through blearing eyes, panting painfully between a couple of coughs. "I was 'ere to scope out the house," he answered, his voice hoarse.

Clint's eyes narrowed, dipping his head toward him with his low voice. "And murder a woman or two?"

Frankie chuckled breathlessly and gave a small nod. "You got it…two to be exact."

Jessie inhaled sharply at the confession, subconsciously covering her mouth with her shaking hand. She continued to watch in case, somehow, Clint needed something from her, but she really felt like curling up in a corner somewhere and letting the tears flood out.

Clint smiled just a little, almost cruelly through the anger in his eyes. "Thanks," he answered quietly but heatedly. With that, he slugged Frankie once more, knocking him out. Letting the body thud to the floor, Clint immediately turned to Jessie behind him. Taking in her appearance softened his countenance like a light switch, and he moved over to her quickly. "Jess, you okay?" he asked between heavy breaths, touching her face gently and looking her over for wounds before he could stop himself.

Jessie did her best to stop shaking, but her entire body was rebelling. The warm caress of his hand on her face, however, released a subtle calming effect all over her. Slowly her hand reached to touch his as she processed the terrifying encounter. She realized too late that she'd failed to answer him, for he just continued.

"I am so sorry," his eyes paced hers tensely, shaking his head, "I am so sorry, Jessie. I should have never left you…" His mouth twisted; he was clearly beating himself up about the entire incident. "Okay?" he brushed the back of his hand gently across her cheek again, the softness easing Jessie into calming down.

Abruptly acknowledging the blame he was putting on himself, she was finally able to speak, shaking her head quickly to stop the apology. "N-no, you-" her gaze fell downward, recalling his limp, "Clint, you're hurt!" Her voice was quiet and unfocused as though half-asleep, but her worry for his injury strengthened her to focus.

Clint shook his head. "I'm fine. I'll be fine." He watched her for a moment as though a thousand things needed to be said, but he exhaled heavily once and simply instructed, "You gotta pack up. There were guys closin' in on the house a couple minutes ago. I took care of 'em, but there'll be more."

With the rush of information and really not completely understanding the new plan, Jessie nodded quickly, glancing toward the windows as though expecting a horde of killers on their way in their black Cadillacs and SUVs. "Wh-what about my mom?"

"We're takin' her, too," Clint gently led her out of the room by her arm. "I've called Fury; he's got people-" he was interrupted by some internal twinge of pain, wincing and stopping abruptly to clench an arm at his side.

Jessie's eyes widened immediately. "Clint!" looking him over restlessly, she sought out some solution. "L-let me take care of that: I'll hurry! I just need to get Mom's first aid kit!" She had no idea if her logic was sound; all she knew was Clint was standing before her wounded, and she couldn't. Lose him.

Clint grunted in pain, pushing off the wall he'd dropped against momentarily. "No, we need to go." Kind of hunched, he continued, ignoring her troubled countenance. "Get your mom, and meet me at the car."

Jessie pursed her lips reluctantly but nodded to obey. Moving past him, she jogged to her mother's bedroom. "Momma?" she hurriedly called, her searching a bit crazed.

Momma slowly and distractedly turned away from the Facebook notifications on her monitor screen. "Yes, dear, what's going on?"


End file.
